


Those Who Favor Fire

by periwinklepromise



Series: Some Say The World Will End [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Assorted minor characters from Westeros and Essos, Can be read alone, Dark!Dany, Domestic Violence, Drama, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Inspired by Season 8, Jon Snow is Not a Stark, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Modern Westeros, POV Jon Snow, Self-Esteem Issues, Verbal Abuse, not Dany friendly, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-04-08 02:50:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/periwinklepromise/pseuds/periwinklepromise
Summary: Jon had loved Dany since almost the moment he met her. It was nice to be swept up in Dany's passion for her cause, in the way the wind always caught her hair just right.But she had changed. Or maybe she was always this way, and he just hadn't noticed it, caught up in those violet eyes burning with love and justice.An exploration of the Jon/Daenerys dynamic and power imbalance, set in a modern Westeros





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome, all! 
> 
> This is an abusive Daenerys fic, so if you love Dany, this may not be the fic for you. I just couldn't get this idea out of my head, seeing them interact this past season, so I decided to give it a go. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Jon sat at the dining room table, chin propped up by one hand while the other hand fastened itself in his husky Ghost's thick white fur. 

She should have been home an hour ago. 

Dany coming home late was nothing new, of course, she was married to her work, but she had said she would make an effort after they fought about it again last week. She had known he was cooking tonight. She could have at least _called_ him and let him know that she couldn't make it in time.

Jon sighed and scrubbed at his face. He'd turned the oven and the stove off twenty minutes ago, but now it was time to actually give up and just put it all away. 

So he stood up, with only slight complaint from his back and knees, and cleared off the table. He hadn't used the fine china, he wouldn't dare, and he'd left the nice red candles unlit so the full burn would be in view during dinner, so it was easy enough to put everything back in its place. 

Then he moved to the stove. Lifting one lid, he poked at the balsamic strawberries with a rubber spatula – how well would these keep? He didn't know; he hadn't tried them before. He sighed, shrugged, and stored them just in case. The pork would keep for sure, and for a moment he considered eating some while it was still fresh, but he decided against it and wrapped the full amount. Maybe Dany would see it when she got in and have some herself, but for now, he just wanted to go to bed. 

Jon locked Ghost into the kennel for the night and shuffled off to their bedroom, skipping most of his normal routine to slump into their massive bed and fall asleep.

When he woke the next morning, it was to Dany's alarm going off at 4:30. She always got up early to get in a run before her shower, and then she was off to her twelve-hour workdays. She was out to save the world, and he'd support her.

Jon just kind of wished saving the world could start a little later in the day.

He woke again at 7, which he found a much more reasonable time to get out of bed and get to work. Jon worked as an administrative aide to Lyanna Mormont, a young upstart from the Bear Islands with no patience for flattery. She had replaced the much maligned Roose Bolton on the Council a year ago when he was found guilty of criminal conspiracy to oust the Targaryen dynasty – members of said conspiracy had killed him shortly after rather than let him cooperate with any further investigation. 

Lyanna had accepted Jon onto her staff primarily on the word of her uncle Jeor, who had started training Jon in the ways of public service several years ago while he worked on his undergraduate degree in Political Science. He'd had to prove himself quickly to cement his position, and now he had a steady job keeping up-to-date on the opinions of the Northmen to inform Lyanna of their concerns. With significantly less coarse language than the Northmen themselves might use.

He did like his work. Fighting for the people, relaying their voices to those in power, making sure those in power listened, it was always his dream as a kid. So Jon recognized that in many ways he had landed his dream job. Just … maybe not his dream life.

He shook his head and tore his eyes away from the window. He had work to do. People to uplift. Brooding wasn't going to help anyone.

*

There was an important event in the City that night, hosted by the Lannister twins Cersei and Jaime from the Council. Lyanna Mormont did not care for them much, and Dany even less so, but most of the councilors would be there, and Dany certainly would not be seen at a social event with an empty arm. 

So Jon stood in front of his sink and ruffled at his curls that refused to be tamed, finally using gel to slick them back from his face. His beard had been trimmed professionally earlier – Dany had arranged it, or more likely her aide Missandei had. Missandei, he could admit, had a good eye for these things, even if he himself did not always care about his appearance in that way. Button-ups, well-fitting slacks, maybe a nice leather coat or fur-trim scarf. That was more than enough to him. 

But the Lannisters held extravagant parties at their family's estate, so he had to put on a tuxedo, with a finicky bowtie that would always feel too tight, and a Targaryen broach on his lapel. His signet pin from the Night's Watch was tucked away in a box somewhere – Dany said white accents made him look sallow. 

He wasn't quite sure what _sallow_ meant, but he stopped all the same. 

“Jon,” Missandei called from the door of the bathroom. He caught her eyes in the mirror. “Miss Daenerys must not be kept waiting.”

He nodded, swallowed nervously, and followed Missandei out to the front door. Dany stood in a black gown that flashed red in the light, her silver blonde hair pulled back into a dozen different braids. Back when they'd met, back in grad school, she used to only do two or three braids for simpler styles. By the time he'd moved into her condo, she had upgraded to six. Now, he could barely count them all.

She was beautiful, of course she was. She had always been beautiful. But it was more than that. Plenty of the sorority girls he had met back in college had been beautiful, and many of them could carry on a conversation just fine. But so many had sought the coveted “MRS” degree and had not looked past it. Dany wasn't like that. Like him, she'd gone straight into a master's program after undergrad. Dany was always moving forward, never looking back. She had her eye on the prize, and he was by her side when she won it.

And he was her side now when she worked all those political circuits to polish that prize. Becoming the High Councilor for King's Landing was a masterstroke. All she had to do now was keep it.

By going to the Lannister's beloved Casterly Rock and dancing the night away, apparently. Dany did not dance much, as a rule, she always said she could be using that time to convince people of her vision for the realm. And who better to convince than Randyll Tarly from the Reach, or Arianne Martell from far down South in Dorne?

Jon tried not to fidget in his bowtie. This conversation would be important, especially since Lyanna would leave early as always and he would be expected to fill her in, since he would stay far longer. 

“High lords are necessary -” Randyll began, but Arianne Martell cut him off smoothly with a quick, “Or high ladies,” which he acknowledged with a brittle nod, “High lords or high ladies are necessary to the structure of society, Daenerys. The smallfolk cannot be trusted with the mantle of leadership, I am sure you can agree.”

“I am less sure, Ser Randyll. Most of my staff is composed of smallfolk, as you know, and all of my constituents are. While the seats of the Council may go to any number of lords or ladies in the Reach or in the North, the High Seat I hold has only one option – a Targaryen. It is not a responsibility I take lightly.”

“She takes nothing lightly,” Nymeria Sand snarked from behind them all. 

Jon stood still.

Nymeria was the primary aide to Arianne, of course, and in Dorne, as in the North, they were accustomed to perhaps less conventional respect than those of the central lands. She said what she thought, as most of the Dornish did. 

But Dany did not like the Dornish way, even if she appreciated the feminist movements that sparked there. She froze at the jab, her violet eyes burning in fury even as the smile stayed painted on her face, and her blood seemed to steam in her veins. “We carry on our shoulders the well-being of millions. It is our duty to recognize the weight of their lives.”

“We have seen what happens when rulers do not respect such duties,” Jon slipped in with a delicate tone, and Dany's face mellowed into an almost genuine smile. No one liked to think much of mad Aerys or volatile Viserys or robust and restless Robert Baratheon, or the even more recent scar of Roose Bolton's corruption and conspiracy. But as they said at the orphanage - “The North remembers.”

And Jon was of the North.


	2. Chapter 2

“I understand that, milady,” Jon attempted to placate the woman on the phone with as regulated a tone as he could, “But-”

“But nothing, boy, and don't you call me milady again!” 

Jon suppressed a sigh. Serving the people meant getting yelled at sometimes, Jeor had made sure he'd understood that. But trying to do it on basically no sleep was always harder than doing it in more positive conditions. “Of course not, ma'am.”

“ _Ma'am_?!” the Karstark woman screeched. 

Jon winced, and rushed to insert, “I'll inform Councilor Mormont that you've called. Thank you for your time,” before she could finish gathering breath for another onslaught, hanging up the phone with an audible clack. He rubbed at his eyes. 

“Late night, Snow?” Lady Lyanna questioned him with a cold eye, but the opening was considerate enough.

“Always is,” he grumbled. “Randyll Tarly may be pushing for lord status on the Council.” That was the biggest issue from last night, as far as he could tell. The tension between Dany and the Sand Snakes was well known, but little more than gossip; Lyanna would not care to be informed of it, he was sure. 

Lyanna rolled her eyes with a resignation much past her young years. “Again?” 

“Again.” 

“He almost succeeded last time, did he not?”

At this, several of the other Northern staffers stopped pretending to be working in favor of listening in. 

“I believe so, yes,” Jon admitted. It would be a severe blow to smallfolk representation and morale. It would seriously damage the populace's trust in this system. And this system had to succeed, had to improve, had to move to increase and encourage the very things Randyll Tarly saw with such disdain. 

“Could you look into it? Edd, Wal, help Jon however you can. This is important.” 

He nodded grimly, and she strode away to her office. He would do whatever it took not to lose ground to the feudal fantasies of hungry men. With grim acceptance of Cersei Lannister's likely position, he reluctantly added, _or hungry women_. 

Jon, Edd, and Wal moved to the conference room and drew up a list of all the councilors, their primary aides, and the family heads who'd had members serve on the Council in the last fifteen years. Some people's positions were easy to guess – Davos Seaworth was of a newly crafted house so would not stand for it, out of self interest if not for the good of the realm, and the Sand Snakes that served as Arianne Martell's staff would never agree to it. But those from the Westerlands and Eyrie – both the currently sitting councilors and their higher born constituents – would probably fall in with Randyll Tarly. There were many who would support a return to the older ways, many who would benefit from such a measure. 

It would be a delicate issue, for certain. But if Lyanna could keep Daenerys on their side, victory was well-enough assured. It could be complicated, sometimes, Dany's reliance on her titles and her passion for liberation. It was almost as if she wanted to tear down the system, root and stem, that that had given her so much power.

Thankfully, Lyanna understood he did not like to mix personal and professional if he could help it. It was one thing to serve a Councilor, and a very different thing to be sleeping next to another Councilor. His employer and his girlfriend both respected that. 

So when Jon got home from work, and Dany was back to change into some lush black gown before a dinner with some of the Pentoshi magisters, she told him about her day and left his day alone. It was better that way, just like it was best that she went to this dinner alone. He kissed her goodbye and wished her luck. 

When he went to find dinner for himself, an hour or two later, he noticed most of the pork from last night was gone, and most of the strawberries too. At least she enjoyed it, he thought with a careful smile. Jon ate the rest of the strawberries from the container, washed up the dishes, and laced up his running shoes. He had the night to himself, least he could do was go for a long run with Ghost. He neglected the poor husky far too often, had to kennel him more than he'd like. 

He'd considered asking Dany to give Ghost an extra run, early in the morning. But he didn't want her to think it was for protection she neither wanted nor needed, and she didn't much care for Ghost, or any dogs. Thought them more trouble than they were worth; it was why she kept her bearded dragons in such high esteem – they mostly took care of themselves, but she kept their enclosure in their bedroom so she could coo over them whenever she wanted.

Ghost used to sleep in bed with him, all those years ago, before they got together, before Jon moved into Dany's condo. He whistled at Ghost, who'd been on his best behavior pretending like he didn't know a walk was on its way. Ghost loved going on a run best when it was dark.

These streets used to seem too large, too empty, especially at night. Their condo was part of the Red Keep, the nicest place one could live in within the bounds of King's Landing. The estate known as Maegor's Holdfast was still in Dany's name, but she only used it to host her own events. She said she preferred something simpler for everyday matters.

During the day, and for most of the night, the rest of King's Landing was teeming with smallfolk of every kind – merchants always grabbing for better prospects and more coin, tradesmen and craftsmen calling out their wares, children holding sticks and calling them swords. Some must surely be orphans, like he was. But all the orphanages were full here, so many were left to their own devices, left to their own despair. 

He shook his head to clear it. Even up here where the streets were clear and almost smelled clean, running blind would be hazardous. He pushed himself a little harder, gave Ghost more of his leash to really let him loose. At least he had the good mind to start the circle back round to their condo, and he did eventually give Ghost – and himself – a good cool-down towards the end of the circuit, petting him down outside the front door. Always so well-behaved.

After that run, all he wanted to do was to take a shower and collapse. But the air felt wrong in the condo, stiff with static, and it did not take long to find the cause.

Dinner must have gone badly.

He locked Ghost in the kennel quickly, and as silently as he could make metal mechanisms be.

Her shoulders were tense, her eyes wide and burning, her lips pursed tightly in some silent judgment he did not understand. He knelt before her, tentatively reaching one hand to her. Her right hand gripped his tightly, the strength seeping from her left's stranglehold on her wine. 

Jon moved to take the wineglass away, but she jerked it back. _Fine, this was all fine, calm her down._ He took a deep breath and kept his free hand stretched out to her, but not touching. _Safe, show her you're safe._ “What would you ask of me, my love?”

“Strip.”

He froze for just a second, air too cold in his lungs, but he nodded and stood and moved back. Peeled off the sweat-soaked shirt and shorts, kicked away the running shoes and ragged socks, dropped his running briefs to the floor.

She sat there, sipping at the bloodred wine, hand still stiff and angry at the stem of the glass. Staring at him with those wide unblinking eyes. Like those dragons of hers.

Her eyes flicked down, and she did not seem impressed. Almost disappointed. He bit the inside of his lip and took himself in hand, tried to make himself look more appealing.

Even when she finally stood to meet him, she felt far removed. 

He would have to do better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse...

He must have slept through Dany leaving for the day. She had not told him what had upset her, but she'd seemed more relaxed when she'd fallen asleep. 

...And it looked like he ov _erslept, oh, shit!_

Jon tumbled out of bed, called in to Wal so someone would know he was going to be late and Wal was always there early, ran Ghost out for a quick walk because his suffering shouldn't mean Ghost suffering too, ran back up to change into his clothes for the day, locked the door, realized he'd left his phone and wallet back in the condo, went back in to get them, and tore back out of the building. All while chanting a neverending stream of increasingly creative swears, because he had to let the tension out _somehow._

When he finally got into work, he was an hour late, feeling frazzled to seven hells, and almost certainly red-faced in shame and the overexertion of running up three flights of stairs so he wouldn't have to wait for the ancient elevator. 

Everyone razzed him something fierce, but no one was angry with him, and that was more important. Lyanna just rolled her eyes and waved from her desk.

“So, um,” he cleared his throat awkwardly, “What's on the market today?”

“Nothing from Pentos, that's for sure,” the lanky Lysara said, an odd smirk on her face, even as others' faces dropped to worry.

Jon's brow lowered. “What has happened?”

“Your girlfriend ruined trade negotiations with the magisters,” Edd told him, somewhat gentler than Lysara's sharp smile. “Rumor is she tried to strongarm 'em into ditching all slavery, not just in name, ya know? So they walked.”

“Hope you got all the spices you need, 'cause the Pentoshi won't be giving us any more,” Wal jeered, throwing a ball back and forth between his hands. “Sure your girl will find a way to keep things _interesting_ for you though.”

“She's not my _girl_ ,” he sneered, ripping the ball from Wal's possession, “She's the High Councilor, and she deserves some respect.” Jon sent a careful glance around the room and then frowned. “Have we informed the Northmen of this new policy in trade?”

The awkward looks he received answered the question well enough. “Well, everybody take their assignments, let them know. I'm sure Lady Lyanna will take care of her own house and the Starks, but everyone else in charge of a keep should be informed. Priority to the coast, of course.”

Slowly, people turned back to their desks and picked up their phones. 

These would not be pleasant conversations.

*

Exhausted from his long day delivering bad news to constituents, he didn't notice Dany's keys near the front door. And he certainly didn't hear her – she could be very quiet when she wanted to be. 

But there was no mistaking the thirst for blood in her eyes when she turned to face him. He cast his eyes away to escape, only for them to land on her hands, one of her lizards hanging lethargic and sickly instead of energetically crawling up her arms. 

“What. Did you _do_?” Her voice started out hard like steel, but it flurried into flames soon enough. 

“I didn't do _anything_ , you know I don't, I wouldn't!”

“How do you explain this?” Her violet eyes only soften when looking down to Viserion. They harden and widen when she looks back to him, and he cannot help but flinch back.

“I didn't do anything, Dany, you _know_ I don't bother your dragons, I wouldn't _dare, please_ , Dany,” he pleaded, “I _promise_ , I didn't do _anything_.”

She cradled Viserion close to her chest. “And you didn't do anything to any of the fruit or veg in the house, did you?” she asked him, softer, her eyes wide and starting to let her fear leak in.

“No,” he insisted quickly, “All of their food is safe from me, you know-” And then he stopped short. Oh, no. Oh, no, no no _nonono_. He had made dinner for them. All of it had been packaged as leftovers. He hadn't labeled them because he thought the two of them would eat it all together. “Did you feed them any strawberries?”

“Yes. Viserion loves strawberries.” Now she just seemed confused, but at least she wasn't so angry anymore.

“I put a balsamic reduction on them.” Jon cleared his throat. “Vinegar. Didn't you say they can't have a lot of acid?”

Her eyes flared again, wide like the mouth of a monster, black and gaping, and her lips and hands were shaking, and he backed away from her, until he hit the wall outside their room. She followed. 

“ _You fed my dragon **acid**_?!” Her voice was quiet and deadly, her breath harsh against his face. “ **No** , do not look away, _look at me_.” Her hand was on his chin, keeping it up high, forcing the eye contact.

“I'm sorry,” he hurried to say, before she could cut him off. “We can take him to the vet,” he offered, “You know they'll open after hours for you.” 

Her lips were thin. “I do know that. I do not need _you_ to tell me. Or to accompany me.” She took a step back, and her face went smooth like a burnt log crumpling to pure ash. “You will stay here and think of a way to make this up to me. You will not _touch_ my children ever again.”

Jon did not have to bite back the defensive response – that he hadn't touched them, that he hadn't fed them anything, that it had been her, her own ignorance, her belief that everything in that condo was hers and hers alone – he knew better now. “Yes, Dany. Of course, Dany, I'm sorry.”

“Your words mean nothing. Only action will.” 

She raced off, hair flying behind her as she slammed the front door.

Jon sagged against the wall, and then down to the floor. 

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't _breathe_... 

He heard a whining, and he thought it was Ghost, and then he realized it was probably coming from him, so he tucked his head between his knees and covered his neck and took long, deep breaths until he could manage to crawl to Ghost's kennel and unlatch the door and bury his face into long, soft fur. This time, he was sure it was Ghost whining, in sympathy or over the desire for a walk, he couldn't be sure. 

But he stood, let Ghost out for a quick walk just in case, and then convinced him to get back into the kennel. Jon hated always having to lock him away, but Dany hated to have him out in the condo. He lost that fight every time he attempted it. 

_Sacrifices must be made_. That's what she always said. _Sacrifices must be made_. 

And for now, he had to clean the condo and buy her another necklace and plan a date night so she would have somewhere to show it off and maybe write her a poem. Otherwise, the next sacrifice would be _him_.

He grimaced. That wasn't very funny.

He really should have put a label on the strawberries.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An interlude...

Jon kept a picture of him and Dany in his desk at work. It seemed odd to keep it on his desk proper, so it stayed in the top drawer for him to smile at when he reached in for more supplies.

They had been on the King's Landing campus, picnicking in the godswood. She was young then, bright-eyed, speaking of bringing justice to everyone, studying the tales of great trials. They had both wanted to go into public service, but she never meant it like _serving_ the public, the way that he did, like Jeor had taught him. Dany? She had wanted to conquer the world.

And she'd grown in power, these last few years. She had pushed through important laws, nosed out corruption, ended toxic policies with the ruthless determination of a woman who knew she was destined for greatness.

Jon had never felt that destiny. He wasn't sure he had one, not really. But he didn't need some great power pushing him; he could get along just fine pushing himself.

He wanted to believe in hers though. Wanted to believe that she had been ordained by the stars, the way she believed in herself so clearly. She had no room for doubt. He himself felt haunted by doubt. So sometimes, it was nice to be swept up in Dany's passion for her cause, in the way the wind always caught her hair just right. 

But she had changed. Or maybe she was always this way, and he just hadn't noticed it, caught up in those violet eyes burning with love and justice.

**"Jon!"**

He startled hard, almost falling out of his chair. He bent one finger back oddly while he righted himself, pressing harshly against a blister he had earned last night frantically cleaning the condo, and he groaned out, _"What?"_

“You were moon-faced there. You okay?” Edd prodded, looking a little concerned. 

“Yeah, mate, I'm fine. Just spaced out.” He physically shook himself. “I'm back. What are we working on?”

Edd gave him a doubtful glance but passed over the papers all the same. He gave him a pretty wide berth for the rest of the day, and Jon was fine with that.

*

Jon kept his distance for a few days – easy enough with her busy schedule. He gave Ghost some extra attention, went to bed early every night, and kept the condo spotless in his free time. And at the end of the week, he got off late and came home to the curtains drawn, glowing candles on every flat surface, a banquet laid along the coffee table, and Dany sitting on the ground in front of it, beaming brightly, the candle light gleaming along her skin, turning it warm and creamy. 

She looked delicate and content, and it was the easiest thing in the world to shake off his weekend lethargy and duck down to kiss her soft and smooth, the easy way a man could only kiss a woman after they have been together for years. 

“Hello, my ice and snow,” she cooed at him when he finally pulled back.

He slumped on the floor next to her. “Hello, my honey and stars.”

A giggle bubbled up through her lips. _"Honey and stars?"_

He pouted and defended, “I thought that was good!”

“Keep working on it,” she suggested, amusement curving her lips and brow. “I did like the stars bit, though.”

“My _fire_ and stars?”

She laughed and kissed him again. “Better.”

She had gotten dinner for them – when he complimented her cooking, she admitted that Torgo Nudho had done it all for her, but he reasoned the thought amounted for a great deal – and it had been lovely, sitting next to her, eating with their fingers, gazing into each other's eyes like they had when they'd first started dating and everything was new and dazzling. She had bought a sour red that she knew he liked and even drank it with him, even though she tended to only drink red wine when she was angry – Dany normally preferred a sweet Arbor gold when she was in such a good mood.

That night when they went to bed together, she rode him soft and gentle, like she used to do after they'd been dating a few months, when she'd really began to trust him. It was warm, and it was comfortable, and when she smiled down at him, he understood that she still loved him, even if they got their wires crossed sometimes. They came together, and it felt like coming home.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done with this leg of the story!

He peered over at the calendar hanging near the entryway. It was nearing his anniversary of leaving the Night's Watch orphanage to move out on his own – had it really been seven years, already? When he was younger, he'd made a point to always visit the guys, even as all his fellows aged out too, but it had slid past him the last few years. He did miss the Watch fiercely, and things were going well between he and Dany, and well... he shrugged as best he could while lying down.

Now was as good a time to ask as any. The evening was quiet and calm, Dany was working from home for a change, signing documents or something, but she wasn't too busy to interrupt, he thought. “I was wondering...” he started quietly, playing with Ghost's fur. The husky knew him well enough to be close by the couch, right where one arm would always hang off the side.

“...Yes?” she called back from the table. He couldn't tell how much she was paying attention, and he couldn't tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“It's been a while since I've been up North. Haven't seen the Night's Watch crowd in ages,” he clarified. “Thought it might be nice to visit.” He held his breath inside his chest, held his body entirely still. Waiting.

There was a clack on the table, like she had put down her pen. That sort of thing could go either way, though if she had wanted the movement to be silent, she could have accomplished it. 

“You want to just go flitting off to the North? We don't have that kind of time, Jon.” Her voice sounded almost angry, like she was frustrated at having to explain something obvious, but her voice seemed mostly controlled. 

He took another deep breath and pushed on. “It wouldn't be for long. I think Lyanna would be okay with it, I could even get some extra meetings in, help smooth some things over.”

“And what about _my_ job?” she pressed. “I can't just abandon my people. You know how important my work is, for current and future generations, for a lasting legacy for us all. The Night's Watch is just one group, but we have to think of the realm.”

This was getting away from him. This was supposed to be a personal discussion, not a political campaign. He sat up and turned to face her, resting his arm on the arm of the couch. She was closer than he expected – he hadn't heard her chair move at all, but it was now pulled fully from the table and turned to face him. Her grace had stopped quite a bit of useful noise. “You, uh, don't have to come, if you don't want.” He hadn't meant she would automatically join him, though she had come once before. He understood she was very busy, he respected that.

“Now you're _leaving me_?!” she shrieked, standing quickly and stalking towards him.

He cringed back, trying to maintain some space for the conversation. “Of course not, Dany, that's not what I meant.”

“Then why are you choosing the North over me? I thought you _loved_ me.” Her eyes shone brightly with tears she refused to free, and her bottom lip quivered.

It was simply horrible to see her this way, scared and vulnerable, knowing he was responsible. “I do!” he hurried to assure her, clasping her hands and pleading up to her, “I love you, Dany, you _know_ I do, I've never loved _anyone_ like I love you. I won't go, I'll stay here with you, _please_ don't cry.”

She looked up at the ceiling, trying to blink it all away. “Swear?” she sniffed. 

He did not blink. “I swear.”

All the tension seeped away from her, and she took a deep, stuttering breath and nodded. “Okay.” She smoothed her hands along his jaw. “Okay. Just as long as you swear.”

“I do, I _swear_ , I love you, Dany, I love only you,” he reassured her, watching her whole body relax at his words. “I'm not choosing anyone over you. You are everything to me, _everything_ , Dany.”

“And you'll stay?”

“And I'll stay,” he swore.

She bent down to kiss him, all tongue. When she stood back up, she pulled at the lapels of his shirt until he stood with her. “Come to bed.” He nodded and bent to grab his book, but she tugged at his shirt again. “Come _on_ ,” she groaned at him, and he followed her to their bedroom. 

She sat on the edge of the bed and flipped up the hem of her dress, and he knelt and used his mouth to make her sigh. Then he was able to climb up to the bed with her, kiss and touch her, make her quake beneath him. Dany rolled away and fell asleep quickly after.

He stayed up much later, unable to drift off, to still the storm in his mind. Brooding, she would call it, and she had not been the first. He had done what he was supposed to do, what he always did. Knelt and pleaded and apologized, made love to her to prove the disagreement was past, to prove that he was not angry with her. This was normal for them – they fought, she won, they kissed, she came.

Why, then, was there a burning beneath his skin, an intolerable itch he could not scratch or shake? It was all he could do not to fidget, but he did not want to wake her - she had to get up so early, after all.

This was normal, yes, but it felt like something wasn't _right_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decisions are made...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get like, a little political in this chapter, but I didn't want to just ignore these issues in a modern Westeros AU. So here's one idea I had

Missandei handed Jon a stately looking scroll, sealed with red wax, embossed with the Targaryen crest. “For the week-end's event.”

Jon's face flickered, he was sure, but he took the scroll with a steady hand and as pleasant of a nod as he was capable of giving her. He had never been overly fond of Missandei, truth be told. It shamed him to admit it, but he had been jealous of her. Worried that her devotion to Dany was romantic, that she might steal Dany away. Even after she started dating Torgo Nudho, that glimmer of distrust stayed. 

Maybe because he was still jealous. Still bitter. Still knew that Dany relied on Missandei in ways she would never apply to Jon. 

But Missandei had done little to deserve it, was always the picture of professionalism as she flitted in and out of rooms to inform him of his girlfriend's plans.

He sighed, more than a little disappointed with himself, and broke the seal. A _gala_? Dany was holding a _gala_ at Maegor's Holdfast at the end of the week, and she hadn't even _told_ him. And she hated the Holdfast! She always said that using it in her career was relying on the power of her family's name instead of relying on her own merit. 

It must be important. To the realm, to Dany's dreams. 

Important enough to pull out _all_ the stops. Now that he was looking, there were clean notes in Missandei's precise handwriting on the calendar – suit fitting, hair cut, manicure. Daenerys wanted him looking his absolute best. He wrote down all the appointment times and sent a message to Lyanna to make sure he could get all that time off.

*

The festivities were massive. The Holdfast was decorated for some tremendous event, and the party was wild and rambunctious, but no one knew what Dany was celebrating, not even Jon. 

But he showed up like he was supposed to, wearing the suit Dany had chosen for him, and he stood at the bottom of the major staircase, arms tucked behind his back, until it was time for Dany's entrance.

And what an _entrance_.

Darkness fell, the sound of a single violin soared through the halls, and everyone turned to the stairs. Torches flared to life as she walked past them, glinting dangerously off the material of her gown, some dark, glossy fabric with scarlet highlights that made her look like she was walking out of an inferno unburnt. Her face shown strong and proud as she descended, and the train of her dress flared down the steps like wings.

She took his arm without even having to look, she just knew where it would be. She beamed at everyone gathered. 

“Thank you all for coming. I know there has been a great deal of anticipation over this event, so I seek to set your minds at ease.” It sounded scripted. It probably had been. “As we all know, our trade agreement with Pentos was revoked a fortnight ago. The magisters insisted they should be allowed to trade in human beings. We have ignored this in the past. As have Braavos and several other Free Cities of Essos.” Her voice trembled. “But the evils of slavery can be ignored no longer. It is a blight upon this world and a danger to our way of life. It is with a solemn heart that I, Daenerys Targaryen, as High Councilor and Protector of the Realm, do declare war on the Slave City of Pentos.”

Bedlam broke out, a cacophony, voices confused, angry, frightened, desperate. Jon's throat felt dry and tight, frozen in silence. A war? And through the powers of Protector, instead of through committee. Lots of people would angry. Lots of people would be upset. 

Daenerys did not want them to trade with slavers. That was fair enough. Giving slavers money surely continued the cycle. Cutting off trade with Pentos was one thing. Declaring war on them was another entirely.

They had all heard the stories. War was bloody and awful and ruined everything, land and lives alike. Fathers and sons cut down and piled up, mothers and daughters and babes slaughtered in sleep if they were lucky. Nothing good would come from this war. They might free a few slaves, but Pentos was on the edges of the trade, not the hub. How many Westerosi would die to force these magisters to move their slaves from one city to another, one off the immediate coast?

“Lady Daenerys,” he said, and she turned to him. “I admit I am surprised by this news. Have we depleted all other options?” Surely, surely there must be something. 

“There are no other options. They believe themselves morally pure! While they keep people in shackles, while their ships fly false banners to flout their laws! It cannot be borne!”

“Can we not try peace? Surely we can find some agreement!” It did not sound like a suggestion to his ears. It sounded like the plea it was. Please, _please_ , find another way.

“They had their chance to agree. And they will be given another,” she added, but it seemed an afterthought, as if she knew the chance would mean nothing. “If they do not yield, there _will_ be war.”

“We cannot go to war with everyone who disagrees with us!” he insisted. “People are allowed to make their own decisions, even if they're horrible.”

“I will trample their cities to _dust_ before I allow them to enslave another soul!” Her voice rang clear as a bell through the room. Everyone had stopped speaking, had stopped moving. He could feel every eye on them, feel the shock behind them. Everyone knew Daenerys's stance on slavery, her desire for freedom for all. Many supported her ideas … but many worried about her methods.

Jon himself was accustomed to her ideals and her ways of pursuing them. But … cities? Plural? When could she be trusted to stop? Would she ever?

But no, it was a slip, she was a passionate woman. 

“The Northmen,” he restarted, barely over his breath, “Will not agree to go to war to stop this or any other slavery. They will not go to war to solve what they believe is someone else's problem, and neither will the soldiers from the other kingdoms, I believe.” The others began to speak again, unable to overhear his quiet voice. “Pentoshi spices are not worth dying for, Dany.”

“I do not speak of spices,” she spat, “I speak of people, _children_ in _chains_.”

“And what of _our_ people? What of the children raised without parents because they died across the sea for another person's freedom? It's a good cause, Dany, a just one.” That, he believed, was inarguable. She had a keen eye for injustice. “But you cannot _force_ people to fight in this war. Then you yourself will lead an army of slaves, to murder another. The other slave states will band together, and perhaps the Braavosi will side with us, and then instead of one city, we are at war with the whole known world.”

“Then we will conquer _the whole known world_!”

Silence fell again, save a ringing in his ears. His arms felt numb at the joints, and he had probably locked his knees. The world seemed to sway, the room blur. His breath stung like winter winds. “Who said we were hoping to conquer?” he rasped, licking at his lips.

Her response was as sharp and light as Valyrian steel. “Daenerys Stormborn said.”

*

They kept their distance the rest of the night. Jon had tried to stay by her side, stay silent, but she had shucked his hand and stormed off. He let her. She was angry, and she had the right to be. 

He left at an appropriately late time. The festivities had not fully recovered from her announcement, but some attempt had been made. 

He walked home, desperate for fresh air, or simply time to breathe. War. Would all men be enlisted? Would Jon be expected to fight? To die? If he thought this war would end slavery, he would support it in an instant. But it would be meaningless. Even if they won, slavery would be reinstated swiftly enough. Pentos already had a history of flouting post-war agreements, so they could not simply break their spirits and instate new laws. Westeros would have to fully conquer Pentos. Establish a solid presence on the continent, refuse to leave. 

He took several deep breaths and made it through the front door without dropping his keys. He sighed heavily.

It was a mistake to have taken a long route home. Dany had returned instead of staying at the Holdfast. And she was not happy.

She rushed up to Jon, one hand near his collarbone, forcing his back against the wall. Fire blazed in her eyes, and it felt as if the whole world held its breath. Dany huffed and stepped back. “You will not **ever** do that again,” she said with stern finality. He nodded along helplessly. He would not ever do that again. She retreated to their bedroom, and he heard the lock click into place. 

He collapsed to the floor, slapped a hand against his mouth to stop a sob. It was as if every bone in his body rebelled at once, shaking loose, trying to escape his skin. His eyes wouldn't clear, but he couldn't tell if he was crying, couldn't feel any moisture on his face. 

He would not ever do that again.

He ended up in the living room, but he did not remember moving there. He camped out on the couch, but he did not sleep. He feigned it when she was in the room, but not overly well. 

He drifted. 

He dreamed.

He decided.

He would not ever do that again; he would not have to. He would leave. He would have to leave her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of Part One! I separated this story into three parts so people could pick and choose which pieces interested them, so each part of this series can stand alone. For those who just wanted to see some abusive Dany, you can stop reading here - I won't be offended. But the story doesn't end here...
> 
> For those who'd like to see Jon learn how to leave his abuser, stay tuned for Part Two: Enough Of Hate!


End file.
